10 Things I Hate About You
by RainThestral93
Summary: Charlie Weasley positively irked the Gryffindor bookworm. From the way his hair hung haphazardly in front of his eyes, to the way that his cumbersome combat books trampled her feet at Harry and Ginny's wedding. She may tell herself she hates him again and again... but does she really? - Written for the "10 Things I Hate About You" competition.
1. The Way You Cut Your Hair

**A/N: **So I wrote this for The Original Horcrux's competition "10 Things I Hate About You". I absolutely love that film, Heath Ledger just … oh my. Anyway, I'm getting side-tracked. Here it is, I really hope you like it.

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**The Way You Cut Your Hair****  
**

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Hermione Jean Granger surveyed the boy in front of her critically. Well, he wasn't really a boy; more of a man, for he was a good foot taller than the Gryffindor golden girl, and the copper coloured hair that poked out of his shirt was plenty enough proof that he had gone through puberty. It wasn't _this_hair that was currently frustrating the smart young witch, no; it was rather the unruly mop that Charlie Weasley was currently sporting. Along with his smug expression.

"So whaddya think, 'Mione?" The older wizard grinned, running his hands through his hair as he stood in front of her, showing off the expensive wizarding robes he was trying to buy.

"Too dressy," she announced critically. "I really wish you would do something with your hair, though – when you run your hands through it like that, it's so irritating!" She snapped, causing the dragon tamer in question to raise his eyebrows.

"Why?" He grinned, curious. Hermione spluttered for a moment in indignation; there was no way in hell that she would tell Charlie that him running his hands through his mussed up locks like that made her want to do things to him. _Naughty _things to him, at that. The kind of things that Hermione Jean Granger certainly shouldn't be thinking of doing with a man who was eight years her senior.

"You've heard what your Mum says about Bill's hair – it's long and unruly, and well, yours is frankly in the same league!"

"Alright, alright," Charlie held his hands up in defence. "I'll get it cut for the wedding, cool it, 'Mione, you're on fire today." He chuckled – he was always amused when Hermione got defensive with him. He didn't know what it was, but he managed to irk her in a way that nobody else could.

"I'll cut it for you, if you want," Hermione offered, perhaps feeling guilty for her little outburst a few minutes previously. As Charlie handed the robes they'd eventually decided on the cashier, he slung his arm around the petite witch's shoulder.

"Sure, 'Mi," he grinned, "Shall I come over to your place tonight?"

Hermione's eyes widened as she considered the state of her apartment, her cheeks tinging pink as she remembered the brassiere that she'd left hooked onto her nightstand, clearly not expecting male company. "Erm sure, is seven OK?"

"Seven?" Charlie chuckled, "Sounds like a date if you ask me," he winked, "Are you cooking or shall we take out?"

Hermione rolled her eyes exasperatedly. Only Charlie Weasley, notorious bachelor and womanizer would be manipulative enough to turn a haircut into a date. Conniving fox, she thought to herself, as the corners of her mouth twitched upwards into a smile.


	2. When You Stare

**When You Stare**

Charlie, prompt as ever, arrived at exactly seven on the dot. Swinging to door to her now tidied flat – this was one of those instances where Hermione thought "Thank Merlin for magic"; for she had never been a huge fan of housework. The apartment was now completely clear of discarded lingerie – heaven knew that Charlie Weasley didn't need any encouragement to be crude. She ushered him through into the kitchen.

"Pumpkin juice? Squash? Orange Juice?" She offered, prompting the redhead to raise his eyebrow in amusement. She seemed somewhat flustered at the presence of a male in her apartment, and this only made Charlie chuckle.

"You not got anything stronger?" He flashed her his trademark grin, teeth and all. She rolled her eyes.

"Butterbeer or fire whisky?" She asked, reaching into the barely-touched drinks cupboard. Hermione wasn't a massive drinker – and when she did, it never usually ended well.

"Butterbeer, please," Charlie grinned as she handed it to him, popping the cap with his teeth. Hermione winced, wondering what her parents would think of Charlie use of his teeth as a bottle opener. "Cheers."

"Shall we make a start?" Hermione ushered Charlie through the house, "I've got everything set up in the bathroom," she admitted, and Charlie smiled.

"Ever the over-prepared, eh, Hermione?" He grinned. She shrugged – there was nothing wrong with organisation; and she was sure Percy would agree with her on that.

"Doesn't hurt, you know," she smiled, adjusting the stool for Charlie's height. "Sit here, don't fidget, OK?"

"Yes mum," Charlie rolled his eyes, dodging to avoid the punch that Hermione threw his way.

Hermione's resolve was gradually wearing thin – as she'd carefully trimmed his hair, all the while the wizard had been pulling ridiculous faces in the mirror. Rolling her eyes, she tried to ignore the way his gaze lingered on her, watching in the mirror her every move. It was unnerving, to say the least, not to mention distracting.

Finally cracking as he pulled a particularly chimp-like face, she retorted by sticking her tongue out childishly, prompting a hearty laugh from Charlie.

"You're a lot more fun that people say, you know, Hermione," he grinned.

"Gee thanks," a sarcastic Hermione announced, finishing the tuft of hair at the back of his head she'd been snipping.

"Anytime," Charlie grinned.

"Are you always that charming?" Hermione asked, her tone still laced with sarcasm. "This how you get your deluges of women into bed, eh?"

The dragon tamer chuckled, "Something like that, yeah."

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Twenty minutes later, looking far more like a Jane Austen character than a teenage skater dude, Charlie sat at the dinner table grinning at Hermione like an idiot.

"Quit staring," Hermione instructed the redhead, a grin unable to be wiped off her face, "You're putting me off my food," she said, nonchalantly, laughing at the look of mock outrage that crossed his face. "Kidding," she saved herself, for Charlie was looking positively murderous.

Hermione wouldn't admit to anyone the warm feelings that having Charlie's gaze linger on her person prompted in her, least of all herself. Charlie Weasley was eight years older than her, and therefore strictly out of bounds. Besides, he was Ron's brother. It went without saying that lusting after him would be a bad move. What interest would notorious womanizer have in prudish bookworm, Hermione, anyway?


	3. Big Dumb Combat Boots

**A/N:** Beth here. So this will officially be the last update on this Fic until I go back to school on Thursday. Depending on my workload, you may get more before the weekend, you may not. All I ask is that you don't pester me because I have five hours a week of history - which not only is painful, it's also extremely time consuming. Hopefully y'all won't hate me too much if updates are slower - as always, reviews are lovely - Beth :) xx

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**Big Dumb Combat Boots**

Harry and Ginny's wedding was now very much under way, and Hermione was sat watching all the loved up couples gliding gracefully across the floor, her eyes slightly glazed over with tears as she sipped at her champagne. She had been hiccupping for the better part of fifteen minutes, now, and Charlie Weasley was getting irritated. Which is why he swung a leg out under the table, and promptly kicked Hermione in the shins – attempting to stop her from hiccupping.

"Ouch!" She exclaimed, clutching at her shin, now very likely to be bruised, "What the hell did you do that for, your blithering nincompoop!"

"Nincompoop?" Charlie asked, bemused, "Of all the insults in the world and you went for _that_?" Hermione glared at him, causing the older wizard to swallow nervously.

"What on earth possessed you to wear combat boots to a wedding?"

Charlie looked down at his own feet, which were sporting a pair of dragon hide boots, capped with steel. No wonder they had hurt when he'd kicked Hermione, he thought to himself, feeling a little bit guilty. "They're dragon hide, they're the best shoes I own," he justified.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well you look like an idiot."

"Gee thanks," Charlie grinned, well used to her mood swings by now. "But I have you know they were seven galleons."

"I don't care how much they were," Hermione announced with a sniff. "It still looks like a snake's died on your foot."

"Aww come on Hermione," Charlie chuckled. "Lighten up – I thought weddings were meant to put girls in good moods?"

"Not this girl," Hermione snapped shortly, turning away from the wizard doing his very best to irritate her that evening.

"More champagne?" She shook her head.

Charlie stood up, sweeping down to the floor in an elaborate bow, as he proffered the Gryffindor bookworm his hand.

"Care to dance?"

Hermione got to her feet without really wanting to, her feet acting impulsively. Her own hand fit perfectly in Charlie's blistered one, and she found the way he rubbed his scarred, blistered skin over her own strangely comforting.

She didn't even complain when his hand slid a little lower down her back than it probably ought to, sighing, as she rested her head on his chest, as they waltzed across the floor, in time with the music for the final dance of the night.

The spell binding moment was suddenly shattered when a yell cut through the dulcet notes of the music.

"You bloody idiot!" Exclaimed Hermione, as she hopped around on one foot. "You twit! Oaf! Nitwit!"

Charlie looked bemused. "What've I done now?"

"You and your BLOODY dragon hide combat boots have gone and crushed my foot," exclaimed Hermione, still nursing her injury. "That's what."

Charlie chuckled, sweeping her up bridal style, and carrying her to the corner of the dance floor so that she could sit down and attend to her wound.

He gently massaged her food between his expert hands, feeling her relax beneath him.

He chanced a smile in direction, but got another eye roll in return.

"Bloody boots," Hermione muttered, and Charlie chuckled.


	4. The Way You Read My Mind

**A/N:  
** So it's Beth here. You probably sussed that but whatever. I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to update but I've had major life drama.

1) My sisters best friend tried to jump off a building but the Police stopped her just in time. She left my sister a suicide note, and my sister read it, believing she was dead. The friend is now in a psychiatric unit; so there's been lots going on with my sister etc, and I'm sure you can understand I needed to be there for her.

2) I've been really ill or else I'd have updated a week ago. I couldn't get out of bed least of all write FanFiction.

3) I've had so much school work I thought I was going to suffocate under it. GCSEs suck, seriously. But I've done it all now and I'm all out of excuses, so here it is :) Please review and let me know what you think - Beth :) xx

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**The Way You Read My Mind**

As Hermione nursed her wounded foot, a look of sheer annoyance began to cross the young witch's features; a fact which didn't go unnoticed to a combat-boot clad redhead. He followed her line of sight until his eyes fell upon his younger brother, Ron.

Ron was disgusting – there really was no other way of putting it; he was always trying to stick his tongue as far as possible down some naïve bint's throat – and right now he was succeeding.

Lavendar Brown – who's whiny voice wasn't even the most annoying thing about her – had been instantly disliked by Charlie when he had first been introduced to Ron's latest flame. She'd giggled and fawned all over Charlie; completely ignoring her so called "boyfriend" and for that, had warranted herself a spot in the Dragon tamer's bad books.

"It's disgusting, isn't it?" Charlie remarked, knowing all too well that Hermione hated the sight of Ron rubbing their relationship history in her face. Hermione nodded.

"Want to get out of here?" Charlie suggested kindly, giving her back her slipper to put back on.

Hermione sighed, nodding as she got to her feet, and putting her own delicate hand in Charlie's larger, cumbersome one, etched with scars and burns that spoke of his profession.

Charlie tugged her excitably out of the tent, all the while Hermione musing over just how Charlie always seemed to know what she was thinking – she hadn't voiced her disgust over Ron's display of public affection with Lavendar, and yet the older wizard had known that it was one of the last things that she wished to witness. It really was quite amazing really, the knack he had for reading her mind.

Hermione giggled as the older wizard dragged her by her arm down to the Weasley family lake; a stone's throw from the burrow. Collapsing down onto a grass bank, and with a wicked smile, Charlie produced a bottle of champagne which he'd clearly swiped from the wedding reception before they'd made their escape.

"Charlie!" Hermione reprimanded him, giggling as she did so – for she really was quite drunk already.

"What?" The older boy smirked, feigning innocence. Rolling her eyes, Hermione reached for the bottle, popped the top with gusto, and took a rather large swig; causing her to hiccup as she did so.

"You're a bad influence on me," Hermione hiccupped, "You know that? I've never been drunk before."

"Well," Charlie laughed, "There's a first time for everything."

Hermione nodded, her eyes wide as the bubbles rushed to her head. "Speaking of first times, when was yours?" She asked, with surprising confidence. Charlie ran a hand through his hair, regarding the Gryffindor bookworm quizzically.

"Sixth year," he admitted, "With some girl called Charity. How about you?"

"Fourth year," Hermione admitted sheepishly. "Viktor Krum."

"Holy fuck," gasped Charlie. "Seriously?"

Hermione nodded. "Please don't tell anyone," she urged, her tone suddenly silent. "Your brother thinks I lost it to him."

"Eugh, too much information, Hermione," Charlie chuckled, only half-kidding, "But you saucy little minx… don't worry, your secrets safe with me."

"Good," Hermione smiled fondly at the redhead, a few locks falling haphazardly in front of his eyes. Her eyes lit up with a wicked glint.

"Race you to the swing," she grinned, and jumped to her feet.

"Game on," Chuckled a slightly less inebriated wizard. "On your marks, get set," he grinned, "Go!"


	5. Makes Me Sick

**A/N:** So I know it's taken a while to update, I'm really sorry. But I've been to Belgium with school and had no way of updating until now, but I'm back and here's another chapter. Feedback, as always, is much appreciated - Beth :) xx

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**Makes Me Sick**

Hermione reached the swing down by the lake on Weasley's property a good few seconds before Charlie, who arrived afterwards, only to chuckle at the sight of Hermione, who had her legs planted apart and her arms on her hip as she taunted in a sing-song voice, "I beat you, so there!"

"So you did," Charlie grinned, pushing his shaggy locks out of his eyes.

"I'm too quick for you," she beamed, spinning round in the air and performing pirouettes. She staggered, righting herself before she face planted, looking immensely pleased with herself.

"Perhaps you should sit down," ushered Charlie kindly, knowing full well that the Gryffindor golden girl had more drink than she could handle.

"But I don't want to sit down," Hermione's brow creased into a frown, and Charlie had to do his uttermost best to suppress a laugh regarding her temperament.

"Fine then," Charlie amended, "You don't have to sit down. But take it easy, OK?"

"You're not my Dad," she remarked pointedly, her bossy voice carrying on the wind.

Charlie shook his head, "No, I'm not," he agreed, "So what do you want to do?"

"Can we dance?" Hermione asked, her voice pleading and laced with excitement.

"But there's not any music." Charlie remarked, bemused, and a look of irritation spread across Hermione's face.

"Charles Weasley," she chided, "Are you a wizard or not?"

"Oh yeah," the redhead remembered, grinning sheepishly as he waved his wand, a pleasant melody filling the clearing.

A look of bliss immediately crossed Hermione's face.

"Stand on my feet," Charlie urged her, not wanting to crush her again with his cumbersome boots.

The extra height that standing on Charlie's feet brought meant that her head nestled in neatly below his chin, and Hermione lay on the older wizard's chest, the rhythmic hum of the music and the pounding of his beating heart washing over her until she yawned, making to drift off.

"No, no, no," exclaimed Charlie worriedly, "don't go to sleep Hermione," he shook her gently. Her eyelids fluttered open.

"Whazgoinon?" She asked, disorientated, and sweeping her up bridal style, Charlie Weasley carried her over to the swing, sitting her down.

She smiled up at him, eyes wide with innocence and alcohol, and stared right into his big blue orbs. The corners of his mouth quirked up into a smile as he realised how care-free the workaholic in front of him looked in that one moment.

"You're beautiful," he told her, not even thinking as he pushed a brown curl behind her ear. Eyes wide, she stared up at him.

"Kiss me," she whispered softly, her tone still laced with authority. If it hadn't been for the sincerity in her voice, Charlie might have laughed at her inner dominatrix.

As he lowered his head slowly to hers, looking into her eyes for signs of change of heart, Hermione turned a startling shade of puce, before bending over and retching all over his shoes. He grimaced.

She looked up at him, wide eyed, as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Oops," she smiled, embarrassed.

"Oops indeed," he sighed, as he picked her up, sweeping her off her feet. "Come on, let's get you to bed. You're going to have a stinking headache in the morning," he told her, shaking his head in bemusement…


	6. Always Right

**Always Right  
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"Damn you Charlie Weasley," Hermione grimaced as she crawled into the bathroom, wiping off her mascara which caused her current resemblance to a panda. Her voice was croaky, and her throat dry. Groaning, she splashes cool water on her face, in an attempt to quell the hangover of the century. "Charlie?" She croaked, and the wizard in question came to her aid – struggling to supress a laugh at the sight of Hermione Granger unable to function.

She clearly didn't make a habit of getting drunk, the Dragon tamer chuckled, so she would be fun to deal with – hangover in tow.

"Mornin' doll," he smiled, pushing her hair out of her face as she pouted. "What's wrong?" His voice was laced with concern.

"Why must you always be right, you bloody idiot?" She huffed, and Charlie let out a deep laugh.

"I'm just that amazing, you see… But what exactly am I right about?"

"You said I'd have a stinking headache in the morning. Now I do. I want to curl up in a ball and die…" Her brow was furrowed, and she was quite the sight; with her hair sticking up in all directions.

"Personal experience, I'm afraid. You had way too much to drink – do you even remember anything from last night?"

Hermione paused – she remembered everything, funnily enough, including how she'd puked delicately all over his stupid toe-trampling combat boots. Perhaps it would be a good idea to apologise, for that, she mused. "Sorry about your shoes," she grinned sheepishly, and the dragon tamer waved it off.

"Nothing a little magic can't fix. Speaking of magic, I'm going to brew you a Hangover potion. You'll be right as rain in a jiffy," He grinned, and Hermione found herself melting a little bit inside. She hadn't even known the redhead had such an effect on her until she'd nearly kissed him the night before.

Half an hour later, Charlie handed her a steaming pink brew – which smelt bizarrely of bacon, for some reason. Hermione gulped it down, nearly scalding her tongue in her eagerness toget the marching band out of her skull. She sighed in satisfaction, resting her head on the back of the sofa in her flat – Charlie must have apparated them both there after she puked on them.

"So you do remember last night then, huh?" Charlie asked conversationally. She nodded, shyly, knowing that she'd come very close to proclaiming her feelings for him.

"Well do you remember how you asked me to kiss you?"

Hermione nodded, barely able to breathe.

"Well if you don't mind I think I fancy the prospect even more; now that you're sober and less likely to puke on me."

Hermione's eyes widened, as in a matter of seconds, before looking questioningly into her eyes, Charlie melded her lips with his own. He kissed her with languorous care, his tongue dipping in and out, teeth nipping on her lower lip occasionally as she succumbed to the sensation that overwhelmed her. She broke the kiss, her cheeks flushed and her heart hammering manically in her chest.

"I love you, Charlie Weasley," her voice was sincere, and full of longing.

"I love you too," his tone was sincere. "I knew you couldn't resist me," he winked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Must you be right about everything?"

The redhead smirked, and nodded.

"Don't ever leave me." Hermione breathed as he shook his head, kissing her once more.

Breaking apart for breath, he murmured, "I've got no reason to go anywhere. Everything I want is right here."

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**A/N:** So I guess she doesn't hate him after all... aww... whaddya think? - Beth :) xx


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